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Hey​.​.​.​You Make Me Feel A Lot

by Old Ephraim

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1.
Circles means a daughter Straight lines a son An acorn at the window Copper on your tongue Amber beads around your neck The catharsis of prayer Rabbits foot on a key ring It's a worrisome envy I bear You don't think I wish I could have that peace, that sweet release? Just to believe to believe in something? But I'm not afraid of fear, year after year, an unburdened man I am becoming. A bird in your rafters Cross on a tomb Dreamt a muddy river and halo circled moon Deluded Heraclitus Tenets in duplicity Still I waver slightly A desire for simplicity Lamarck, pass this conceit. Festinger; rational, discrete Turn the 1 Wason Challenge these tales of caution.
2.
Asleep 03:30
It's all just white noise and hums Sparkles in the magpie's nest Can I explain when the time comes of these demons by which we're possessed. A mare's nest: my mind A world barren and forlorn A house full of laggards Who show no question or concern Insides twisting and turning Feeling abashed and unnerved Tongue tied, I'm lowly but... "We accept the love we think we deserve." It's really all we can do.
3.
Epistasis 03:46
Cower, and realize you're so lonely. So you abide in something holy. Something to reconcile. Sour, they touched your tongue with acid. Happiness never could have lasted. Denial's so versatile. Sorrow fills my heart my poor nestling. Hiding is never the best thing, for one in reveries. Hollow promises, mere whistles and bells. Distractions from acquisition's well. Never alimentary. Beguiled and young You have been broken Admonished Your wonder's been stolen. When will you learn?
4.
Ghosts 04:44
Malevolent shadows, here I wonder Those without touch, can you harm me? Numb hands reaching for my collar A soreness of my own esprit Qualms of conscience, does it matter? Morals cannot exist without you and me Wounds and scars, if self afflicted the sequestered, could not be perceived obscene. "One reaches out...but gets no hold of us." Never thinking of the past Repression of what really ails me Dancing 'round all questions asked But these specters so persistent Constantly humiliated and harassed I can only hope that these ramblings Will one day be unsurpassed. Thanatos lingers and whispers secrets Splitting us into duplicity Ghosts leave imprints on our memories Leaving translucent imagery Drawing question to my mind's eye Now I doubt it's validity Unsure of any of my actions These apparitions have taken control of me So to answer my haunting question: Can the unseen commit abuse? These devils, though strong, can never hang you Only teach you how to tie the noose.
5.
Volume 01:46
Chill out chatterbox! Why can't you be quiet for 15 minutes? It must be some sort of disorder, but the human language has so many limits. It's not a competition You know, quiet is nice too. Your incessant talking gets on my nerves Clenching my fist is all I can do... to keep from hitting you. Quiet down, chill out. Fuck off, don't shout. Settle down, shut your mouth. Shut up and get out of my house. Your mouth is not enough? You have a new electronic device to bother me when I'm not here. Well, let me give you some advice... It's all just a static now.
6.
Chrysalis 03:49
How can I perceive everything around me when nothing is real anymore? Questions are the sea waves crash around me and we are the whales that are washed ashore. Now easy pickings screaming and kicking dragged away by the beasts. We must go willing insides twisting and spilling when we let go we are released. We are now the trees winds dance through our leaves seasons shaping the way we grow but every single eve our bounty's stolen by thieves these are trials we must undergo. Taking and giving is the cost of living but there is one thing you cannot steal one thing you're entitled: knowledge unbridled don't allow anyone to take your zeal.
7.
I want to die like Nietzche Fighting in the street despised by many. I want to die like Jesus Christ Speaking of miracles but really telling lies. I want to die like an unwanted stray only a bullet left where my body lay. I want to die like Budd Dwyer you'll watch me die calling me a liar. I want to die like Mark Twain leaving this world in a comet's flame. But I want to live like me, personally, to inspire happiness and bravery. When I die I want everyone to say... I'm in a better place. When I die I want everyone to say it was too soon. Because I know it will be untrue. When I die all I really want is to be remembered.
8.
Soul Mates? 01:45
Where am I going? Where I belong. There was good and bad there all along. Counter intuitive, wrong it seems. Almost convinces me there's a meaning. "But really I was thinking," I say with a smile, "you really weren't there, all the while I cried in the bathtub. Across all those states. I made it this long without you for fucksakes. Don't take this the wrong way, I love you, I'm thankful. But I could think of four things more painful than loosing you, like castration, being eaten alive, being skinned over a long period of time, and maybe freezing." So don't tell me our meeting was fate. I could never think of a concept more fake. It's a happy coincidence, just a chance, that we met and I got in your pants. ...but I'm thankful that it happened, I promise.
9.
Gather what's around us with all this interference. If we didn't judge by politics or appearance. Imagine the possibilities with a little perseverance. One gifted mind might devise some coherence. I can walk around all day with no direction. But until there's some goal or dream I'll make no connection. The soullessness of the techno age is an infection. We have to look into our eyes and love our imperfections. Come now. Lift your pretty head and smile. Somehow don't get lost in the crowd. Everything you do breathes life into you. Have meaning; live life in pursuit. Tracks without a train are meaningless. And life from the same perspective is weakness. What fills us with love is our own uniqueness. When we deny ourselves it leaves me speechless. Come now. Somehow. Everything. Has meaning.
10.
An archaic devise, used for centuries. Built and woven, draining us empty. It's hard to tell where this exhibit ends or begins. A sad man's breakfast: a stomach sour. This is the life of a coward. Yet you welcome it to your chagrin. Speech coaches to hide her accent. And hatred to make her descent. An equinox of her inevitable fall. Detrimental and capperclaw Her mouth is like a buzz saw. Cutting through trees that stood so tall. A spark then insurrection. No matter how much protection. Broken; induces great recoil. Onlookers gasp (but that's not appalling) Bleeding, begging, and crawling. In the end, the beaten receive the spoils.
11.
12.

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released March 17, 2014

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Old Ephraim Eugene, Oregon

I'm a guy with a beard that feels things and writes songs about it.

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